


Dance in the Dark and Say You Love Me

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of 5+1 Things [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Geralt Deserves Nice Things, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaskier is a Nice Thing, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion is Bad at Communicating, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Right Bro, Sometimes Accidental Kisses Happen, dammit, let them be happy, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: There was this one time Geralt accidentally kissed him. And then it happened five more times after that.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A Collection of 5+1 Things [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990429
Comments: 39
Kudos: 901
Collections: Five times a character did something cute and one that I saved it as a bookmark





	Dance in the Dark and Say You Love Me

The thing is, Geralt was pretty sure the first time was an accident.

“... and if you’re not back by dawn, I’m stomping into those woods and dragging your ass right back out,” Jaskier said, plopping down onto the edge of the bed. He hadn’t stopped making threats since Geralt told the bard he wasn’t allowed to come on this job, and Geralt had long since come to just accept them. “Do you understand me?”

“Hm.”

“I’m being serious, witcher,” Jaskier said. “You have one night. Hunt the werewolf down, rip out its throat, and then come back to me. No funny business in the forest now.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He finished rubbing down his blades and slipped them into their conjoined sheaths, pulling the strap over his shoulder. Jaskier watched him from the bed, blue eyes apprehensive. 

“Tell me you’ll be careful.”

“I’ll be fine,” Geralt said. Jaskier wrinkled his nose and pushed himself up, crossing the room. Sighing, Geralt turned to face him. It seemed like they always had this conversation.

“That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

“I’ll be careful,” Geralt said, if only to shut him up. Jaskier sighed.

“Fine, Geralt. But if you do die, I’m going to make your lament as ridiculous as possible. People will visit your grave just to laugh.”

“How comforting.”

“Just—” Jaskier sighed. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” Geralt said, and leaned forward to press a kiss against Jaskier’s forehead. 

Jaskier froze. And the second it sunk it, Geralt did too. He pulled back and Jaskier’s eyes darted to his face, looking curious, and Geralt just… stood there. Because that wasn’t something they did. Not once, not before. They didn’t do… that.

“Ah, well,” Jaskier said. He leaned forward and pecked his lips against Geralt’s and then grinned, turning back around. “See you soon, witcher.”

Geralt stood there for another second. Then he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door tightly behind him. In the silence, he stood there again. The feeling of Jaskier’s lips against his— the sudden chasteness of it all— Geralt blinked. That had never happened before. But it felt right.

He started down the hall. So it was a new turn of events, but it’d only happen once, right? It’s not like Geralt had meant to. Jaskier might have. But Jaskier was a flirt and a jester. It didn’t mean anything.

_Hm._

* * *

So the first time wasn’t on purpose. Geralt didn’t think the second time was either.

They didn’t really talk about it. Jaskier continued to follow Geralt from town to town and at some point, he’d taken to riding on the back of Roach too. Geralt didn’t think too hard about that either. Jaskier just climbed into the saddle one day and it was either yank him out or go along with it, and Geralt went with the easier option.

He might not’ve a few years ago. But he wasn’t lingering on that now.

The plan was to make it to the closest town by nightfall, but then Jaskier had to go off and get himself nearly killed by a drowned when they stopped to refill their flasks, so that didn’t happen. Geralt didn’t mind so much, though, when they were both sitting around the fire and Jaskier’s shoulder was brushing up against his own. It was calming; not that Geralt would ever admit that out loud.

“You know,” Jaskier said. “I nearly died today.”

“You nearly die every day,” Geralt grunted. Jaskier shot him an offended look.

“I do not. I didn’t nearly die yesterday.”

“You did,” Geralt said. “You fell asleep on Roach and almost fell off the saddle.”

“That wouldn’t have killed me!”

“If you would’ve hit your neck right,” Geralt said. “It would.”

Jaskier huffed. He prodded at the fire with the stick Geralt had told him to put down an hour ago, the tip burning red-hot. He liked to wave it around in the air when it caught on fire. Geralt swore the bard was a child sometimes. “Well, I’m just saying. I could’ve died today.”

“Hm.”

“You would miss me, witcher,” Jaskier said, looking at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Would I.”

“You would,” Jaskier said, firmer this time. “You’d be an utter mess if I was gone. Because we’re friends, witcher, aren’t we?”

Geralt looked sideways at him. Jaskier’s eyes were almost pleading. Geralt heaved a sigh, turning his eyes forward again. “Yes, bard, we’re friends.”

Jaskier brightened. He poked at the fire with renewed vigor and leaned into Geralt’s side more, an additional warmth along with the flames. Geralt didn’t mind it, though. “We are,” Jaskier said. “Of course, we are. I always knew it.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. They sat in silence for a little longer before Jaskier started yawning. Geralt knew it was a matter of time from there before he passed out against his shoulder, and ultimately collapsed sideways off the log, so he prodded Jaskier up, and pointed him toward the bedrolls. “Go sleep.”

“M’ not tired,” Jaskier argued. Geralt gave him a pointed look and Jaskier rolled his eyes, pushing himself up. He leaned down first, though, and pressed a quick kiss against Geralt’s cheek before plodding off. His eyes were half-lidded and Geralt doubted he even realized what he’d done.

Geralt did, though. He froze and stared up at the bard, and Jaskier smiled sleepily before moving over to one of the bedrolls. He dropped down, buried himself in the blanket, and laid there for a second. The fire crackled. Geralt didn’t move a muscle.

Then Jaskier sat straight up and looked over at him. Geralt looked sharply away. None of them said a word for a moment and the flames continued to crackle; like laughter, Geralt thought.

Eventually, Jaskier laid back down to sleep. Geralt didn’t move for another few hours, staring at spots of blank nothing as his head continued to spin.

There might be more to this than he originally thought.

* * *

The third time, Jaskier was drunk, and Geralt didn’t think it counted as a kiss. 

He'd just come back after killing a Kikimore and found Jaskier dancing around the tavern, strumming the chords of his lute with a bright smile on his face. The bard grinned even brighter when Geralt entered the tavern and he winked at him; Geralt grunted and started toward the furthest table in the corner.

There was a man, Geralt noticed, that kept sliding Jaskier coins throughout his performance. He was wearing the clothes of a royal and wasn’t too bad looking; a sharp jaw and green eyes. Geralt watched him more than he watched Jaskier and glared each time Jaskier inched closer to the royal.

When nightfall came, Geralt was on his third mug of beer and the royal had steadily been buying Jaskier drinks throughout the evening. At some point, Jaskier ended up on the stool next to him and the bard was grinning goofily, waving his hands around as he talked. The royal wasn’t nearly as drunk; Geralt wasn’t sure he’d really drunk anything at all.

One touch eventually ended up on Jaskier’s knee. Geralt scowled and ordered another beer. Then another touch slid up the bard’s leg. Jaskier made a strange expression and tried to shift away, but Geralt saw the royal’s fingers turn white as they tightened their grip.

He was up in a second, stalking over. 

The royal didn’t have a chance to react before Geralt was grabbing him by the collar and hauling him up. Jaskier made a noise of surprise as Geralt shoved the man against the wall, a snarl on his lips.

“Lay one more finger on the bard and I’ll cut it off.”

The royal’s eyes went so wide, Geralt thought they would pop out, and he nodded. Growling, Geralt let go, and the man scrambled away, taking off toward the door. Turning back around, Geralt realized the rest of the inn was staring but he didn’t care. He took Jaskier by the arm and pulled him toward the stairs, the bard stumbling over his own drunken feet as he tried to keep up.

“Geralt? Geralt! I can walk on my own!”

Geralt let go only to open the door and push Jaskier inside. The bard tripped all the way to the nearest bed and dropped down onto it face first, groaning. Rolling over, he blinked at Geralt.

“You didn’t have to do that, witcher.”

“He’s lucky he kept the hand,” Geralt said, closing the door. Jaskier looked amused.

“Were you defending my honor, Geralt?”

“I was taking care of my bard,” Geralt muttered. Jaskier’s face cracked into a wide grin and he pushed himself up, stumbling across the room. Geralt caught his arm a second before he face-planted into the door, sighing heavily. “Jaskier, you’re drunk.”

“A little,” Jaskier said in agreement. “But so are you.”

“I am not,” Geralt said. Jaskier huffed.

“You are. A little.”

Geralt steered him back over to the bed and Jaskier plopped down with a smile. The look of fondness was so bright in his eyes it made Geralt’s stomach do a strange flip. He tried to ignore it. “Sleep it off.”

“Perhaps,” Jaskier said. “If you’ll sleep it off with me.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. Jaskier blinked at him and then moved over, patting the spot on the bed at his side. Geralt glared at it for a moment before sinking down. Some part of him knew this was a bad idea. The other part really didn’t care.

“Come on, witcher,” Jaskier said. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to think you were just taking care of your bard. It’s more than that.”

“Good bards are hard to come around,” Geralt said. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t even want me in the first place.”

“No,” Geralt agreed. “I didn’t.”

“But you do now,” Jaskier said, his eyes starting to dance again. “Because we’re friends.”

 _Friends._ Geralt didn’t know why his throat tightened at that and he nodded. Jaskier sighed, leaning up against his shoulder.

“I’m tired.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said. “Sleep sounds nice.”

But he didn’t make a move to do so. Geralt tensed as the bard rested his head on his shoulder and hummed quietly under his breath. Geralt looked at the door and considered making up an excuse to, well, leave. He could say Roach still needed to be watered. Or he’d forgotten something downstairs.

Geralt couldn’t help but feel stupid at that. Since when was he nervous about being around Jaskier? And drunk Jaskier, of all things. He shouldn’t be that hard to deal with.

Geralt snapped back to reality when Jaskier took his hand and turned it over, examining the callouses along his palms and the white scar that curled through his fingers and went across the back. Geralt didn’t remember when he’d gotten that one. But it was old.

“Sometimes I look at this scar,” Jaskier said, tapping his finger against it. “And wonder how the hell you possibly managed that.”

Geralt grunted. Jaskier traced his fingers over it.

“Did it hurt?”

“I don’t remember.”

Jaskier made a soft noise and touched his lips against the spot where the scar was palest. Geralt went still but didn’t pull away, feeling warm breaths against his skin. It was such a soothing, innocent gesture, that he didn’t really know how to react. Jaskier pulled away and gazed at him, a gentle look in his eyes. “Thank you, witcher. For protecting my honor.”

Geralt swallowed. Jaskier sighed and leaned heavily against his shoulder again.

“That bastard smelled bad anyway. Too much garlic.”

And Geralt just… grunted. He didn’t know what else to say. Or what to do.

Jaskier fell asleep like that.

* * *

By the fourth time, Geralt didn’t know what else to call it.

There was something intimate about the way Jaskier touched him. Never with malicious intent and never backing another agenda. He treated Geralt like he was another human being and Geralt didn’t know how to react to that. So he just went along with it.

Sometimes, Jaskier made him feel like he just might be. Human, that is.

Geralt’s shirt had been covered in black blood and he had a nasty gash going across his shoulder blades from the Bruxa’s claws. She hadn’t been terribly hard to kill, but Geralt let himself be distracted. The two seconds he’d looked toward the spot where he’d left Jaskier with Roach, her claws had caught skin and sliced deep. 

Jaskier had to cut his shirt off. And the healer had charged them twice as much because her sister had an encounter with another witcher once, and things didn’t end well. Jaskier raged about that the moment she left.

“How dare she let her prejudice get in the way of business,” the bard said, wiping angrily at Geralt’s blood crusted skin with a crimson-stained cloth. “I mean, charging us double? I should’ve just stitched you up myself.”

“You are never coming near me with a needle,” Geralt said. Jaskier made an offended noise.

“I’ll have you know, witcher, I can handle a needle and thread just fine.”

“I’m sure,” Geralt said flatly. “But what about the flayed, bloody flesh? How do you feel about that?”

“Oh my gods, Geralt, you’re going to make me gag.”

“And there’s my point.”

Jaskier huffed and dipped the cloth into the bucket of water near the bed again. Geralt had told him multiple times he didn’t mind being a little bloodied until he could bathe, but Jaskier was always adamant against that. He cleaned Geralt’s injuries like he was a wounded animal, not the predator that hunted them.

“Come on, now,” Jaskier said, hands guiding across his bare shoulders. “Let me see how far it goes.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but complied, turning so Jaskier could see the entirety of his back. He winced a little as skin pulled, but the wound would heal properly in a week or so. Less if he took good care of it. Geralt doubted that, though.

Except, Jaskier might just make him.

Jaskier was quiet as his fingers hovered over Geralt’s skin. His fingers were cold when they touched and traced idly over what Geralt realized were his other scars. He didn’t usually like to flaunt them. But Jaskier’s touch was strangely comforting. 

“All these,” Jaskier said. “Are from monsters?”

Some of them were from men, Geralt wanted to say, but sometimes the difference between monster and man wasn’t always so strong. So he just grunted.

“Geralt,” Jaskier murmured. “Will there ever be a day you retire?”

Geralt looked at him in confusion. Jaskier’s face softened and he shrugged, touching the damp cloth to the area around the stitched wound. 

“A day when you don’t go around the continent killing monsters anymore. When you live out the rest of your life in peace.”

Geralt didn’t know how to reply to that. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought of.

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said softly. “You don’t need to fight until you die. That’s no way to live a life. Don’t you think you deserve more?”

“No,” Geralt said, because it was true. Jaskier’s touches paused for a moment and Geralt could feel the change in the bard’s demeanor instantaneously. It went from calm to… sad, maybe.

“I don’t believe that, witcher.”

Geralt didn’t say anything. Jaskier continued his ministrations but they were more cautious this time. Gentle fingers traced the lines of Geralt scars and neither of them spoke again as Jaskier finished cleaning the area around the wound. Then, with a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up, but not before pressing a careful kiss against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt stilled and Jaskier traced his fingers over the spot, before turning away.

Geralt was tempted, for a moment, to ask Jaskier what he did believe. What more he thought Geralt deserved. But he didn’t say a word. Only sat in silence and stared at the wall, willing himself to not react to the sudden loss of Jaskier’s fingers against his skin.

Geralt didn’t really know what to call this. But it didn’t feel like a mistake.

* * *

In all fairness, the fifth time, Geralt thought he was dying.

He hadn't thought that in a while. At least, he hadn’t thought that and actually hoped he _wouldn’t_ die in a while. At some point over the last ten years, Geralt had come to the realization that maybe he didn’t want to fight monsters until he died. Maybe he did want something more.

Maybe he did deserve it.

So when he got into a particularly nasty barfight and ended up with a sword through his chest, Geralt was a little more than irritated. He was fucking pissed off.

Jaskier, well… Geralt didn’t really know what happened next. Jaskier screamed his name, something in the bard’s eyes turned absolutely feral, and Geralt’s last thought before passing out was how insanely _beautiful_ that look was and how it was so fucking unfair that Geralt might never see it again.

Geralt woke up later with the very same bard lathering something disgusting smelling into his skin as he hummed to himself; but Jaskier’s hands were shaking, Geralt noticed. His humming wasn't nearly as lighthearted as it normally was.

Geralt opened his eyes and took in the bard leaning over him. Jaskier didn’t seem to notice he was awake because he continued to hum and dipped his fingers in a jar of something green; the disgusting smell, Geralt realized. Some type of salve.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose and turned back, and sharp blue eyes met Geralt’s own. The bard made a surprised noise and opened his mouth; and Geralt leaned up, touching his lips against Jaskier’s own.

He’d later say it was the shock. Or maybe the relief at not being dead. But he didn’t really think before pushing himself up and Jaskier squeaked at the action, hands coming up and catching Geralt’s jaw to either push him back or pull him in closer, Geralt didn’t think either of them really knew.

Jaskier's lips felt Geralt remembered, but there was nothing chaste in their touch now. Geralt pressed forward and Jaskier pushed back, and something about it was better than Geralt had ever imagined.

Not like he ever had. Watching Jaskier’s lips when he sang or how they curled up when he smiled. Geralt didn’t do that.

When he pulled away, Jaskier’s eyes were wide and his expression was shocked. The blue of them wasn’t nearly as feral as it had been the night before, but they were just as bright as Geralt remembered. If not a little dazed as he opened and closed his mouth a few times and then just made a _‘huh’_ noise.

Geralt studied him. Jaskier glanced back and then looked down at his fingers, before wrinkling his nose again. Some of the salve had gotten on Geralt’s jaw and somehow, on Jaskier’s shirt too. The bard sighed.

“Well, great goddess, now I stink.”

Geralt thought that was an appropriate reaction— for the bard.

* * *

“Did you ever think we’d make it?” Jaskier asked, leaning up against him. Geralt tore his eyes away from the crashing waves and looked at the bard, raising a brow.

“Hm.”

“Don’t ‘hm’ me,” Jaskier said. “Did you ever think we’d come here?”

Geralt gazed back out at the water. The sand shifted underneath his feet and Jaskier’s shoulder pressed up against his was more comforting than he’d ever admit. Though they’d both done a lot of admitting lately— from point A to point B, when Jaskier had asked a dozen times where they were going and Geralt refused to tell him.”

“Sometimes, I didn’t,” Jaskier admitted quietly. “But that’s because I didn’t think one of us would live long enough, if not both. I think the drowned have something against me. And swords have something against you.”

Geralt huffed. Jaskier turned to face him.

“I am glad. That we made it.”

“I am too,” Geralt murmured. Jaskier’s eyes turned fond.

“You could have told me, though. That we were heading to the coast. I thought you’d either lost your mind or was planning on killing me, witcher. Do you know how on edge I have been these past few days?”

“You didn’t stop talking or singing once,” Geralt said. “I thought you knew.”

“Yes, well,” Jaskier waved a hand through the air. “It was an anxiety reaction. I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

“You talk a lot when you’re breathing.”

Jaskier made an offended noise and Geralt smirked. Something in the bard’s expression changed at that and he raised a brow as a... well, a feral look made its way into his eyes. Geralt thought it was the most insanely beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Care to make me stop talking, witcher?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Oh, come on now. You don’t even want to try?”

Geralt grunted. Jaskier— never one for patience— made his decision for him and leaped forward, taking them both down into the sand. Geralt didn’t have a chance to react before the bard's lips were pressing against his, a laugh vibrating behind the kiss.

Geralt figured at this point, it was all pretty purposeful. He liked that.

**Author's Note:**

> Cause 5+1 tropes are some of my favorite things and my brain never shuts up. Also, Geraskier has my entire heart and there's no going back now. The comments and support you guys leave makes my day!!
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr!  
> 
> 
> [tumblr dumpser](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


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